Hindsight (9781921997211) (4 page)

‘Can we have a quick look before she's bagged?' Ed asked.

‘Yep, I'm done here. Knock yourselves out.'

They edged closer and stared into the crate. Its sad contents were illuminated by the floodlights. The victim was curled into a ball. She was wearing a navy skirt, cream blouse, thick tights and sensible looking black court shoes with a medium heel. She had long blonde hair, like pale straw in the cold winter sun. It was tangled and partly covered her face. Her skin had taken on a blue tinge. Ed could imagine what she would have been like; conservative, neat, probably the quiet, serious type.

Phil and Ed looked at each other. Their faces wore identical expressions — the same mixture of sorrow and anger they felt at the start of every murder investigation.

CHAPTER

4

I'd be lying if I said that I felt relaxed about venturing into town. I could count the number of times I'd visited in the last nine years on one hand. If anyone asked, which didn't happen too often, Mum and Gran always explained my housebound state by saying I suffered from agoraphobia. It made me sound like a bit of a head case but it was better than telling them the truth.

Upstairs, as I got dressed and psyched myself into some semblance of calm, I could hear Mum and Gran talking in muffled tones down below — no doubt debating the wisdom of my latest bid for freedom. I love our house, I love living with Mum and Gran, but the problem is I'm on the wrong side of twenty-five and at some point I need to prove to myself that I can go it alone.

Long-lived as the women in my family might be, Mum and Gran won't be around to mollycoddle me forever. Also, at some point I just need to get a life. Despite our family history, I kind of like the idea of meeting someone and settling down to have a couple of kids. Don't get me wrong, Mum and Gran have had their loves — obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be here. The men just didn't stay around for very long. Grandad died of cancer at the age of forty-one. It was a terrible thing for Gran that she couldn't heal the one person who meant the most to her.

My own father just couldn't deal with my mum's gift. Before they got married he swore to her it wouldn't be a problem for him but as time wore on he became more and more resentful of people asking her to read for them. It got to the point where they argued about it on a daily basis. He couldn't understand why she couldn't just ignore her gift. The problem is, anyone who has a talent as strong as Mum's can't just put it in a box and pack it away in the closet like an unwanted wedding gift. It's an intrinsic part of who she is. To ignore it would be like cutting off her arm.

When I was two, Mum and Dad decided to have a trial separation. Mum moved in with Gran and Dad moved to Queensland. That's the way it's been ever since. I see Dad every so often. It was more regular when I was younger, before he remarried and started his second family; before I developed my version of the family gift. He sends me birthday and Christmas cards. I probably should feel more pissed off than I do by the fact that he so obviously doesn't need me in his life but I can't remember any different and I can't imagine it any other way.

Still, my acceptance of my lot was one thing. Convincing a date that my family was just a different version of ‘normal' was another.

Forget about Mr Right, the hard truth is that at twenty-eight I haven't even found Mr Close-Enough. I dated plenty of boys back in school but most of them just seemed too immature or too full of testosterone to even begin to deal with the complexities of a house full of women with paranormal tendencies. Those relationships ran a pretty predictable course: everything was pretty normal until they started to want to take me to places that I hadn't checked or they came to pick me up and met my mother and grandmother.

One poor sod, Michael James, got the double whammy. He wasn't meant to come inside but nerves got the better of him and he needed to use the bathroom and of course that meant I had to introduce him. Mum and Gran were in the kitchen sorting Gran's home-grown herbs for the local health food store complete with Shadow's predecessor (who was also black) purring around their ankles — it was like a scene from
Macbeth
.

It was all downhill from there. Michael compounded the issue by taking me to a lookout I hadn't been to before and where some unhappy soul had ended it all by jumping. Imagine it: he leans in for a snog, I freeze, my eyes glaze over and I let out a blood-curdling scream as I feel myself plummeting to the bottom of the cliff.

I had one serious relationship when I was in my early twenties. Poor Geoff; almost fifteen years older than me, kind and patient and willing to accept my talent and my reluctance to venture very far afield. He was a wonderful, caring man and I should have felt blessed to be loved by him. I just couldn't make myself feel that way. We parted ways; me feeling like an ungrateful cow, him gentlemanly as always.

I knew if I was ever going to meet someone I had to get out and about more. Working as an editor didn't exactly help. I mostly dealt with my clients by email and I tended to work all hours of the day and night. My social life was non-existent.

I'd been teetering on the brink of trying to take control of my life for a long time; I just hadn't been able to take the last step into the unknown. What'd pushed me over was a visit from an old school friend, Julie. We were close through our school years but then she moved away and gradually we stopped phoning each other, stopped sending cards until finally we drifted out of each other's lives.

Julie had always been a good friend. She understood that my family was a bit unusual but accepted them without hesitation. Years later, when she turned up on our front porch, I didn't recognise her. She was glowing and her eyes sparkled. In her arms was a little boy. She spent the afternoon with me and we caught up on all the missing years. She had married a man she met working in a large finance firm in Adelaide.

I was happy for her. She'd come into her own and motherhood obviously agreed with her. At the end of the afternoon she jumped in her car and drove off to meet Richard, who was at a business meeting in a nearby town. As I stood on the front porch and watched them leave a wave of self-pity swept over me.

What followed was three days of black moods that had Mum and Gran ducking for cover. I'm normally a fairly easy-going person and I don't let too much worry me. Not this time.

I felt like there was a thundercloud perched permanently over my head, I couldn't shake it and I couldn't explain to Mum and Gran the muddle of thoughts going through my head. I'm sure they figured it out. Their few brave attempts to draw me out were met with snarls and hostility. They beat a strategic retreat and tiptoed around me until the mood passed.

Things gradually got back to normal. What was left was that annoying stream of consciousness that popped into my head more and more frequently. It was like an alter ego, pestering me to get off my butt and do something with my life. So here I was, about to take on the big bad world again. A chill slithered down my spine and I shivered involuntarily. Don't be an idiot, little Miss Alter Ego said.

Mum chattered ceaselessly on the drive into town. I just sat back and made appropriate noises, feeling like a prisoner who'd just been let out after a long period of incarceration. Everything looked newly painted. I could feel a thrill of energy and excitement building in the pit of my stomach. It seemed like I could take on the world and win and all of a sudden it wasn't just good to be alive, it was bloody fantastic. A manic grin spread over my face. Mum must have caught it out the corner of her eye because the tone of her voice suddenly changed and I was drawn back into her stream of chatter by her sudden probing.

‘Well, that's the biggest smile I've seen on your face in ages. What brought out the sunshine?'

‘Nothing in particular, Mum. Just feeling glad to be alive.'

‘I wish you'd let me have a peek at your future, Cass, I'm sure it would be good for you to know.'

‘No, what you mean is that it would be good for
you
to know.'

A scowl replaced my smile. Mum had been pestering me to read my future for years and it annoyed the crap out of me. I really didn't want to know and she just couldn't understand it. Being more psychically gifted than your average person, I'd learnt how to block her. She couldn't read me unless I let her and it drove her nuts. Sweeping aside my momentary irritation, I tried to recapture the sense of exhilaration. I looked over at her and decided to extend an olive branch.

‘Mum, you know I love you, don't you?'

‘Yes, Cass, I know,' she murmured.

‘How about we just enjoy this outing and agree to disagree?'

She sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose that's really all we can do, I just wish …'

‘Mum, please don't spoil today. I don't want to fight with you.'

‘Well, no, I don't want to fight either but …'

‘I'll buy you a piece of mud cake from Mrs McCredie's.'

‘Ah now, that's not playing fair. How can I refuse an offer like that?' She finally let the matter drop and the conversation returned to less controversial issues, such as how she could tell Mrs Henshaw that her husband was cheating and whether or not she should tell Mr Mooney that his sister who lived overseas was in for a period of long and serious illness.

With a sense of relief I went back to looking at the passing scenery. The sun was peeking out from behind the clouds and the fields were lush and green from the winter rain. In the distance cows dotted the hills like specks of lint on a bright green jumper. I rolled the window down and inhaled deeply, breathing in the cool sharp air that smelled of eucalyptus and the sea.

Gradually the landscape started to change and the occasional building popped up among the greenery. Eventually the buildings won the battle with nature and we entered the town centre. I studied everything intently, trying to see what was different from the last time I was there a couple of years earlier. Things looked much the same. There was a new coffee shop where the old haberdashery store used to be but other than that it looked like the army of progress had halted at Jewel Bay, taken a look and then passed it by.

The town was slowly grinding into second gear for the morning. People were walking at a brisk pace to get to their destinations and the traffic was starting to fill the streets. I felt a sense of wellbeing as the rhythms of the town hummed around me. I grew up in this place, went to school here. The familiarity settled around me like a comfortable blanket.

Mum pulled up in front of the library and I smiled at her with more confidence than I really felt.

‘So I'll see you for lunch at Mrs McCredie's at twelve thirty?'

‘Are you sure you don't want me to come with you, Cass?' I could see genuine worry in her eyes.

I glued a smile on my face. ‘Mum, please. I really need to do this by myself. I remember the safe paths and nothing has happened on them since I was last in town. I checked.'

Safe paths were my key to survival when I was younger. I carefully plotted the roads I could take without having visions. I leant over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and before she could think of anything else to say I was out of the car.

The library always struck me as an amazing piece of architecture for a small town. It stood there like a grand old dame dressed in satin and jewels among Amish neighbours. Its Corinthian columns were oddly mixed with gothic-styled windows and detailing, right down to the token gargoyle on the roof. One of the town's founding fathers commissioned the building. Money was not an issue and I spared a moment of pity for the architect he'd hired to pull together all his favourite elements from a wide range of styles.

I walked up the steps to the imposing front doors and pushed them open. The familiar smell of books greeted my nose and the hush embraced me as I started to make my way to the reference section.

‘Can I help you, dear?' It was the delightful Mrs Jones, senior librarian, professional busybody and advertisement against spinsterhood.

I switched on the smile again and slowly turned around, bracing myself for the barrage I knew was coming.

‘Mrs Jones, how nice to see you.' I silently congratulated myself on my A-class acting skills.

The woman turned and studied me over the top of her glasses.

I sighed. ‘Cass, Cass Lehman. It's been a while …'

‘Of course, Cass, my dear, why, how lovely to see you again after such a very long time. What brings you into town? Are you feeling better?' The wattles of skin on her neck quivered excitedly and her eyes gleamed behind the gold rims of her spectacles.

I could imagine her mouth watering at the thought of spreading this bit of news around her gaggle of cronies. Cass Lehman, back in town! More than two years since the last time, agoraphobia you know, very unfortunate, not surprising, though, when you consider how unusual her mother and grandmother are, didn't have a chance of being normal the poor child, needed a healthy environment to grow up in, not a house full of superstition and fancy. ‘I am very well thanks, Mrs Jones. Just here to do some research in the special reference section. I'll see you later.'

I turned and hurried away before she could pump me for more information. I could feel her gaze scorching the fabric on my retreating back. With a sigh of relief I reached the small reference section and slipped between two rows of books.

I wanted to look up the history of the neighbouring town of Fairfield. I needed to look at its history from the time it was founded to the present and I was hoping that some of the local chronicles that were only available in hard copy would have the information I was looking for. Once I'd searched those, I planned to move on to the microfiche to look at the newspaper clippings from the local papers.